


We've Got All Your Life and Mine

by lady_ragnell



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Regency, Childhood Friends, Dancing, M/M, Waltzing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 09:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15793830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_ragnell/pseuds/lady_ragnell
Summary: Five times Otabek asks Yuri to dance, and one time Yuri asks Otabek.





	We've Got All Your Life and Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mizzyfreak7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizzyfreak7/gifts).



> **Content notes:** Yuri starts the fic at age 9, but nothing romantic happens until he's well over age. There's a brief reference to two same-sex couples making negotiations about heirs, and it is entirely left to the reader's imagination how that's done.
> 
> Written for **mizzyfreak7** for a fic-for-donations post, with my thanks! Also, handily, fits my "au: historical" square on my trope bingo card.
> 
> Blithely ignores historical accuracy for the convenience of story, even aside from the fact that this is an AU where homophobia does not exist and same-sex marriage is common because If Canon Ignores Reality So Can I. I also ignored various things about naming conventions (Yuri and Viktor would both quite likely be called by the name of their title even by their friends, but I didn't want to deal with coming up for the names of titles given the complexity of blithely dropping people from all these different cultures into Regency England) and only did the barest glance over military ranks and how young one might be expected to make Commander or Captain, so my apologies to any detail-oriented people left wincing.
> 
> Lastly, the title is from Men Without Hats' classic "The Safety Dance," and I am not sorry.

1.

“I don't want to stay for the stupid dance,” Yuri says, and knows he's too loud when Lilia's frown grows more forbidding at the pronouncement.

“And yet you will. We are hosts at this party, and we have an obligation to our guests. And Viktor thought it would be charming to have the children stay for the first dance at the closing ball, so you will. You can dance with Mila.”

Yuri scowls. Viktor gets too many of his whims indulged, now that he's at Oxford and beginning to take his place as a duke, not just as Yakov's ward. “Viktor already asked Mila. He's just doing this to make all the grown-ups leave him alone.”

Lilia's brows draw together. “You will show up. You will dance. You like dancing.”

He does, but it's already been a long, hot week of a house party, of strangers tramping all over the estate he usually has the run of, of being confined to the nursery early in the evening, of being ignored by Yakov and Lilia, who are supposed to be looking after him all summer while Grandfather takes the waters in Bath, since they're relations on his father's side. “Not with strangers,” he mutters.

“Nonetheless,” Lilia says, and Yuri can fight all he wants, but he knows enough by now to know that's the end of it.

It's how he finds himself in the ballroom that night, dressed in his finest and scowling. The grown-ups all clearly think it's charming, the children coming out of the nursery to dance with relatives and each other just for once dance, like they're playacting at what they're going to have to do someday. Mila is standing as tall as she can and Viktor is bowing over her hand.

Yuri looks dubiously at the rest of the children. Most of them are younger, boring. They won't even know the steps, and if Yuri dances, he wants to do it right. The adults aren't worth thinking of either. He'll be at a disadvantage, with them so tall, and besides, most of them are boring, and most of the ones who aren't already have partners.

There's someone hovering at the edge of his vision, and Yuri turns to give whoever it is the sharp edge of his tongue.

It's one of the boys. Yuri hasn't bothered to learn his name, but he thinks that his parents are in trade, some kind of business deal with Yakov that got them invited to the house party. He's quiet, a few years older than Yuri, about to be sent off to school, and when he hasn't been outside, he's been in the library. When he catches Yuri looking, he gives a clockwork bow. “Would you like to dance?”

“Not really, but I have to.”

The boy's brow knits like he's not quite sure what Yuri means by that. “With me,” he finally elaborates.

“I just said yes, didn't I?” Yuri asks, impatient, and offers his hand. “I suppose you want to lead?”

The boy shrugs. “You didn't say yes, but if you are, you can choose whether to lead or not. I'm taller, but perhaps that doesn't matter to you.”

Yuri squints at him, waiting for a catch. Some men, he's told, and some women too, argue over who gets to lead, but this boy doesn't seem to care. Perhaps he just wants to dance. Yuri can, grudgingly, respect that. “Fine. You lead. I'm probably better at spins.”

“Probably,” the boy agrees, all amiability, and offers Yuri his hand.

The time has passed when Yuri could have asked his name without seeming rude, so he just takes his hand and gets into the forming set just in time for the music to strike up.

Whoever the boy is, he does dance decently, Yuri will admit that. He's not as good as Yuri, of course, but if his parents are in trade, that makes sense. He knows all the steps, but he's stiff. At least he's more than happy to let Yuri have his fun and show off. No one who stays with Lilia and Yakov for a summer comes out anything less than an exceptional dancer.

Probably a few of the grown-ups are cooing at them in that way grown-ups have, like Yuri and whoever this is are dolls, or like they don't know exactly why they find it so sweet, children play-acting at courting. Yuri doesn't intend to court anybody, even if he likes to dance. It's just a pity that the two things are so twined together for everyone too old to be sensible.

One thing he'll say for his dance partner: he doesn't bother Yuri with conversation neither of them cares about, another ritual of grown-ups that makes Yuri snarl with impatience. He's silent through the whole dance, and when the music winds down, he gives another very correct bow. “Thank you very much for dancing with me, my lord,” he says.

Yuri frowns. “It wasn't too bad, I guess.”

There's enough of a smile on the boy's face that Yuri thinks, for a second, that maybe he could actually like him, but then one of the governesses is appearing to shepherd them away back to the nursery to go to bed, already talking about what a nice memory this will be, what a nice friendship they'll have.

The guests leave the next day, and Yuri doesn't think about the boy beyond shrugging when Mila and Viktor both ask who he was.

2.

Yuri does not want to be sitting in Viktor's town house, talking to guests at Viktor's wedding. He's supposed to have a few years more before he's pulled into stupid things like this. Longer, if he decides to go to university or do something else that will put off his appearance during the Season, but he'll have to show up someday, because he's got a title and apparently an obligation.

However, it is not an obligation _yet_ , but stupid Viktor fell in love with a stupid cavalry officer who is definitely now no longer a cavalry officer because duke-consorts don't do things like that, and he caused a stupid scandal, and now he's married and somehow the scandal meant that Yuri had to show up and dance in a show of solidarity.

Yuri does not want to dance with Viktor's friends, so he makes a point to always be holding a glass of lemonade.

Mila, enjoying her first Season to an extent that Yuri finds unnecessary, is talking to Miss Crispino and a young naval officer Yuri doesn't know, and he tries to avoid her eyes when he walks by for a refill of his lemonade, but unfortunately her eyes are very sharp indeed, and she waves him over. He could cut her, but Yakov wouldn't like that, and Yuri has the instincts to know that he shouldn't anger Yakov when he's already apoplectic over Viktor's scandals.

“Lord Yuri,” she says, taking his arm and holding on tight as soon as he's close enough, and peering until she can see that his cup of lemonade is empty. “You know Miss Crispino, of course, and I believe you've met Lieutenant Otabek Altin.”

The Altin name sounds familiar, a business partner of Yakov's, but Yuri doesn't think he's met the son. If he's already a Lieutenant and only Mila's age, as he looks, then his parents must have bought him the rank. Still, he nods. “Lieutenant.”

Altin nods in return. “My lord. Perhaps you don't remember, but I attended a house party at Mr. Feltsman's home some years ago, when we were children.”

Yuri feels like everyone he knows is reminding him that he's not old enough to do anything interesting, so it's a little gratifying for Altin to talk like his childhood is behind him. “Of course I remember,” he says, even though he doesn't.

“You danced,” Mila says, with a grin in her voice that says she doesn't believe him. “I believe I remember Viktor finding it very sweet, he mentioned it while I was dancing with him.”

Yuri has a lot to say about Viktor and the various things he does and doesn't find sweet, but he swallows them as well as he can. Now that she's mentioned it, though, he does remember a dance. He was forced, but his partner wasn't as horrible as many would have been, and as angry as he was about the forcing, that was enough to give him a good opinion. He doesn't think he ever knew Altin's name, but he does now, and Altin never has to know. “Viktor says a lot of things,” he says, and tries not to scowl over at him, where he is giving his new husband a longing look. They are, according to Lilia, unfashionably besotted.

“I'm not very acquainted with the duke,” says Altin, admirably neutral. “However, it does seem as though they're forming sets for a quadrille. Would you care to reprise our dance?”

Mila's hand tightens on Yuri's arm, but he doesn't know whether she's surprised or jealous or just telling him not to be rude. “Fine,” he says, and he knows it's with ill grace, but it's still an acceptance, so Mila should have no reason to complain about his manners.

Altin's mouth quirks like he's on the edge of a smile, though, like maybe he knows that there are plenty who flock to Yuri to ask him to dance, to walk, to come to this or that party, even though he's only fifteen, just because they're hoping he'll remember them when he's ready to marry. If he thought that was Altin's game, he would have done his best to disappear, but if Mila and Miss Crispino are talking to him, he's probably not one of those looking for a title from someone presumed to be vulnerable.

“Let's go,” says Yuri, and sizes Altin up for a moment. “You lead,” he adds grudgingly, because he's had a growth spurt or two, but not enough to make them look anything but ridiculous doing the figures with Altin following.

“I led last time too,” says Altin, placid, and Yuri would hate him if he didn't suspect that he's smiling without showing it.

He might end up hating him anyway, of course, but this is something like a good start, so Yuri offers his hand and lets Altin lead him into the set, ignoring Mila's smug smile. She'll probably dance with Miss Crispino, and again later, so she has no reason to feel superior, but he'll wait to impress that on her, next time he really needs to win an argument.

“Are you on leave?” he asks once they're in place waiting for the music to resolve itself into a beginning while a fiddler tunes his instrument.

“I haven't gone yet. I'll be leaving in a week.” Altin's shrug is small but eloquent. “My mother insisted my uniform was the only appropriate dress I had for a duke's wedding party, even if I haven't yet earned it.”

Another point in his favor, and this one isn't even grudging, so Yuri nods just in time for the dance to begin, and then they're too busy with figures to really bother talking. “Who invited you?” he asks during one of the pauses while their neighbors do the work.

It's a rude question, but Altin doesn't seem bothered by it. “Mr. Feltsman asked some family friends, in his position as the duke's former guardian. I'm grateful to be invited, of course.”

He's probably lying, and that brings him up another notch. Probably his parents forced him, and probably they're around somewhere. No one would turn down the invitation to a duke's wedding, after all. “Of course,” he says, with perhaps too much obvious sarcasm, and Altin quirks a small smile at him, and Yuri finds himself in a moment of absolute and surprising charity with him.

They're quiet for the rest of the dance, and when it's over, Yuri faces the sidelines again. Now that he's divested of his lemonade and therefore of his protection, there are interested faces, young ladies from the schoolroom waiting to dance because Viktor invited half of London and their whole families, out or not, to his wedding just to show off how unfashionably happy he is.

“Ah,” says Altin, frowning at the three schoolroom misses who have maneuvered themselves close. “Do you know, my lord, I do believe you've twisted your ankle.”

It's not a man's excuse, but Yuri is still young enough that it won't hurt his dignity any, so he seizes on it. “It seems I have. I'll need to sit down,” he says, a bit too loudly, “and have a lemonade.”

A servant materializes with a tray of drinks, and Yuri finds a seat. To his surprise, Altin joins him, warding off anyone who might want to talk to Yuri, which is almost certainly worse than dancing with him. “Perhaps I can tell you about my ship,” he offers. “You seem like someone who appreciates knowing about everything you can.”

Considering how often he's called a foolish boy who won't listen to his elders and won't pay attention to important information, that raises Yuri's eyebrows, but he finds that he wants it to be true. “Tell me, then,” he says.

He'll be scolded later for ignoring the rest of Viktor's guests talking to Altin, but it's the best time he's ever had at a party.

3.

“A dance?”

Yuri turns to give a snappish refusal, since he has no desire to make Yakov's life easy by being polite to guests at a party he didn't want to have, in honor of him going off to do something he doesn't care to do. He finds himself face to face, however, with Otabek Altin, who he's only seen twice in the three years since Viktor's wedding and who is waiting with his hand outstretched. “Lieutenant Altin,” he says automatically, and then winces when he remembers the most recent military dispatches in the papers. “Commander, that is.”

“Perhaps you can dispense with ranks that will change and call me by my given name.”

“Otabek.” He smiles, somewhat to his own surprise. “It's good to see you again. If I'd known you were in the country, I would have invited you to stay.”

“My ship is being repaired in dry dock after that last battle, and your cousin Lady Mila ran into me in Town and told me I would be happily received here for your party.”

Mila is an interfering witch, but sometimes she isn't all bad, especially now that she and Sara Crispino are married and happily setting up housekeeping. “No one is happily received at this party,” he complains, but it's more for form's sake.

“I'm told you're going to Oxford.” Otabek's hand is still out, so Yuri sighs and offers his own so they can join the set. Some kind of country dance. He'll figure out which one when the dancing starts, no doubt. “What will you study?”

“Nothing interesting, but apparently men with titles aren't encouraged to purchase commissions, so Oxford it is.”

Otabek tilts his head, considering something, as the music begins. “Haven't they ever heard of Wellington? You wouldn't make a very good foot soldier, but you'd certainly make a general, someday.” He shrugs. “Then again, I could also see you shouting down the duke in parliament, so politics would be just as effective.”

Viktor is impossible to shout at these days, because he just smiles and talks about the delicate negotiations he and Yuuri are in with Mila and Sara to make sure the bloodline remains robust and Yuri can't be expected to deal with any of that. Still, it eases the sting to know that Otabek at least thinks that Yuri would have been a good officer, and that he might be good at something else. “Politics are boring, though,” he says, mostly to see how Otabek responds.

It takes a few times through the figures of the dance for him to answer, long enough for Yuri to start getting impatient. “Maybe so. But so is war, most times. The better times, anyway.”

Yuri wants to snap back, but it seems Otabek has a talent for saying things he can't argue with without seeming like a complete monster. “Is there anything that isn't boring, then?”

“Well,” says Otabek, and Yuri thinks this is the first time he's seen him smile for real. “You aren't.”

There's no response that Yuri can find to that, no matter how he tries, and they finish the dance in silence, Otabek as serene as ever and Yuri stewing in questions he really doesn't want to ask.

“If war is so boring,” he says at the end of the dance, preparing his escape before Lilia and Viktor can decide that one dance means he's decided to participate in his going-away party, “perhaps a few letters might alleviate the boredom?”

He's grown used to thinking of Otabek as unflappable, but that seems to startle him. “I'd be honored, my lord, but I imagine you'll be busy, with more than an acquaintance to think about.”

Yuri scoffs. “If I'm calling you by your given name, you'll do the same for me. And that, I think, makes us friends, so don't be stupid and say we're not.”

“Insulting your guests?” Viktor asks, arriving with one of his wide smiles to ruin the conversation. “Commander Altin, it's an honor to have you here, and I'm sure Yuri agrees. You were just dancing, weren't you, Yuri? Do you need to get a drink with the commander, or are you ready for another partner? Mr. Chulanont could use one.”

And then he winks. He does it on the side facing away from Otabek, but it's very obvious, and Yuri stares at him. It takes a long, horrifying moment for him to realize that Viktor is trying to be kind and give him an excuse to spend another dance with Otabek instead of talking to other guests, even the more bearable ones. That's mortifying enough that he almost goes to talk to Phichit just to stop Viktor making any assumptions, but Otabek is the only person at this party that he actually wants to talk to, so he just rolls his eyes instead. “We'll get a drink, unless Commander Altin has a pressing need to dance the Sir Roger.”

“I won't feel deprived.” Otabek gives Viktor a brief bow. “Your Grace.”

Viktor grins at both of them. “Enjoy your drinks, both of you. And then enjoy your party, Yuri. It's all for you, after all!”

He wanders off fast enough that Yuri can't call something after him without scandalizing a few guests, so he contents himself with scowling in Otabek's direction instead. “Drinks, and then the card room, I think. It's less boring in there, by a small margin.”

Otabek smiles again. “As you wish.” And then, as they start walking: “Yuri.”

4.

The Season is just as bad as Yuri had always assumed it would be. Worse, in some ways, and he'll grudgingly admit better in others, but after a week of it, he's itching to be somewhere else, though he's not sure where. Oxford is behind him, after a grudging degree in mathematics that he only picked because it seemed something like practical, and ahead is … something. Parliament, probably.

It might not be so bad if he weren't so eligible, and Mila called him an ingrate the time he said something like it a year ago, and he can't even imagine Lilia or Yakov's reaction to him saying so, but it's still true, and always has been. He might like balls if he could show up and dance, but a dance is never just a dance, and hasn't been since he was nine years old.

Tonight, there's some kind of ball at Giacometti House, and since Yuri is staying with Viktor and Yuuri instead of bothering to find a club to join and rent rooms from and since they're going, he's going as well, and trying to smile about it and privately vowing to find his own lodgings soon, even if it means opening Plisetsky House.

It's a crush, of course, because any party Christophe throws is bound to have a scandal or two, and getting through the line to be greeted is tiresome to say the least, because Viktor and Yuuri wouldn't hear of being late to a friend's event.

Christophe greets them all with a grin, though, and doesn't ignore Yuri, which is disconcerting. He may have had a title since he can remember, but he was still young, and Viktor's friends treated him with only the barest of respect, but now after exclaiming over Viktor and Yuuri's latest story about their baby, he turns to Yuri. “There's a friend of yours here somewhere, I think. Commander Altin? I like having all the interesting people at my parties, and he counts.”

Yuri tries not to show his surprise. Otabek is due leave soon, based on his most recent letter, but he didn't say it was this soon or let Yuri know he was in London, and that thought is enough to make surprise edge dangerously towards hurt. “I'll be pleased to see him, then,” he says, at his stiffest and most polite. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Any friend of the duke's,” Christophe says with a wave of his hand, and doesn't bother finishing the sentence.

That seems to be a cue to plunge into the ball, shouldering through the crowd and making a point of losing Viktor and Yuuri as he goes. He's not precisely looking for Otabek, but he's not going to ignore him either, even if he is stung.

Minami from Yuuri's regiment finds him first, and Yuri dances with him since there's no good reason not to, and then a friend of Sara's who just giggles at him the whole time, and then someone one of the matrons introduces him to whose name he immediately makes a point of forgetting. Christophe insists on a dance, lets Yuri lead, and winks at him when he leaves him at the side of the dance floor.

His eyes are sharp, and it takes Yuri a few seconds to see what he saw when he chose just where they would end their dance: Otabek, standing by a wall, blending in a little too well with the curtains despite his uniform. Yuri sighs, grabs a few glasses of lemonade from a passing footman, and approaches. “I had to find out you were in town from Christophe,” he accuses when Otabek greets him with a nod, and hands one of the glasses over.

Otabek watches him, considering as always how much he wants to say and how to say it. Sometimes Yuri is left frustrated and wondering just how much he leaves out of his letters, when he's composing them and just like that, wondering how much of his news Yuri should have. “I was doing business for my father,” he finally says, “and I wasn't free to see you. But I'd hoped you would be here tonight. I should have sent a note. Should I apologize?”

Yuri rolls his eyes and joins Otabek in leaning against the wall. “Asking me takes the fun out of it. No. How long are you on leave?”

“A while. Enough to see some of the Season, if you care for the company.”

Yuri snorts his opinion of that. “I won't get half the invitations you do, just watch. You'll get your own ship soon, and you're of an age to be thinking about marrying. I'm too young to be taken seriously.”

“I think less people will underestimate you than you imagine.”

“Flattery,” Yuri says, disappointed. “That's beneath you. You really do think I'm angry.”

Otabek shrugs. “I don't flatter, but if that's what you want to believe, you're welcome to. And besides, weren't you just flattering me? A ship of my own is one thing, but a title is another, and no one will forget that my parents are in trade.”

There are a few moments of silence, and Yuri finally sighs and takes a long drink of his lemonade. “I'm glad to see you here. It's been too long, and I've hardly had time to write.”

“I don't blame you, even if I miss the letters. And I have even less time than you do.”

It's been understood between them that they're friends, and that they'll write when they can, and that neither of them has much time or inclination for long, newsy letters. Yuri writes briefly, as frequently as he can, more comments on whatever happens to be bothering him when he picks up a piece of paper than true news, and Otabek writes when he has the chance, a paragraph at a time, and rarely mentions any of the duties or battles that keep him busy, just the weather and his men and Yuri's latest news. “Well. I'll try to do better when you leave next,” he finally says. “You're more interesting than a bunch of parties, anyway, and certainly more interesting than the House of Lords.”

“I'm honored, though I have faith that you could find ways to make politics interesting.”

There are ways, and ways that he could at least feel he was trying to bring Otabek home, but he won't be allowed to try them, young and untried as he is. “Well, as long as you're on leave I don't have to.”

Otabek takes a few moments to finish his lemonade and then tilts his head at the dance floor, something wary in his expression. “I believe they're preparing a waltz. Would you be willing?”

Yuri almost says, waspishly, that they manage a dance or two at any balls they attend, and that Otabek shouldn't sound so hesitant about it now, before remembering that they've never waltzed. Yuri is encouraged, even at his age and even when he has no reputation for being courtly and polite, and Otabek must be, but it's a dance they've never tried together, and an intimate one. But what are he and Otabek, if not intimate? “You think I'm scared of a waltz?” he asks, and that's just as challenging as any other thing he might have said, but surely Otabek is used to that by now.

For a moment, he thinks Otabek won't answer, but after a few seconds, his mouth quirks into a familiar smile. “I don't think you're scared of much. Is that a yes?”

“When is it not?”

They put down what remains of their drinks as the music starts, and don't wrangle over who leads. Yuri is taller now, at least by a little, so he gets the pleasure of doing it, and Otabek doesn't object, or even make a move like he'd ever planned to lead.

Elsewhere on the floor, he catches a brief glance of Viktor and Yuuri, who waltz every waltz together at any party they attend like the sops they are, but they don't seem to be looking in his direction. Not that it matters if they are. There's nothing to object to in two friends having a waltz, and they prove it by stepping easily into sync when the music begins.

Otabek can't have time to practice dancing at sea, but then again, maybe keeping himself steady on the deck of a ship helps his balance on the dance floor. No matter what gives him the chance to practice, though, he knows what he's doing. Yuri likes to dance, with partners worth dancing with, and Otabek has always proven himself a worthy partner.

The waltz is no different, but it still has Yuri on edge. Their dances before have been fine with little conversation, but there were figures and sets to worry about then, the flurry of other couples around them. A waltz, face to face, is meant to be full of conversation, and when conversation doesn't begin, Yuri is left to think about other things, like the warmth of Otabek's back through the broadcloth of his coat and how little space there is between them.

 _You think I'm scared of a waltz?_ he'd asked, but that's starting to seem foolhardy.

“There,” says Otabek when the dance draws to a close, giving him a perfectly correct bow. “It doesn't seem like a real party unless I've danced with you.”

“I'd say the same, but you're here so rarely that it's not true.”

“I'm here for a while, anyway.” Otabek starts walking to the edge of the room, and it's easy to fall into step with him. “It will have to do for now.”

And he'll go again, and Yuri will be left with letters and boredom and every time he sees Otabek, that seems less and less like enough. “Card room?” he asks. He can be selfish with Otabek's time there, since it's a place declared at least mostly free of courtship, even if Viktor breaks those unspoken rules flagrantly and constantly.

Otabek smiles, something easing in the line of his shoulders. “Card room,” he agrees, and Yuri ignores the relief he feels at getting just a few more minutes of his time.

5.

It's Otabek's last night in London before he has to return from leave, and Yuri is at another ball and trying not to seem miserable about it, which mostly means that he snaps at everyone who comes near him, most of whom even he can admit don't deserve it.

Well, Viktor did, but Viktor always does.

Otabek is doing his duty, dancing with others and talking to the other military men in the room, most of them retired or too important to be anywhere near anything like a battle, and Yuri gets sick of pretending not to watch him and goes out to the gardens with a glass of punch and stares at one of the flowerbeds like he cares about precisely what plant is making the air smell sickly-sweet.

It takes Otabek less than twenty minutes to find him, when he shouldn't even have had any idea that Yuri wasn't in the room, from the amount of people present. “You're angry with me,” he observes, because even if the time they've spent together is nothing in the long run, he still knows Yuri better than people who have known him his whole life.

“Not with you,” he says, since Otabek is wrong at least that far. “Just that you have to leave.”

After a few seconds, Otabek comes up next to him, staring at the flowers too. Probably he knows what kind they are. He always knows that kind of thing. “I don't want to leave you either,” he says, with just the slightest stress on the _you_ , proving that he heard the _me_ that Yuri choked off before it came out. “But I have a duty, and I'm going to be promoted soon.”

“I know you've worked for that.” Yuri crosses his arms. “I'm not asking you to stay. I'm just wishing that you could. London is boring without you. I wish I could go, but I know why I can't.” And he hates knowing that he can't.

“I think you'd like the sea. Sometime when things have settled, I'll have to arrange to take you out on a journey. Your family shouldn't be able to raise too many objections if you're just touring.”

It's more of a promise than Yuri can really ask for. “I suppose I'll have to get involved in politics after all, so I don't have to wait forever.”

Otabek laughs. “They should all tremble in fear.” Neither of them looks away from the flowerbeds. Yuri doesn't know what to say, how to send Otabek off without making an obvious fool of himself when he's been spoiled by three weeks of seeing him nearly every day. Otabek, though, seems to have something more to say, though. “Are you waiting for me?”

That startles Yuri into looking at him. “Didn't I just say?”

“That's not what I mean. Or maybe it is.” Otabek looks back, and his mouth is tense, but he looks like he's made a decision. “I was twelve when I danced with you for the first time, and you were the most interesting thing in the room. That's never changed, for me. I should tell you not to wait, that I don't know what's coming, but if you want to ...”

Yuri still feels obscurely guilty that he doesn't remember his first dance with Otabek, even if he's constructed bits and pieces from Mila and Viktor's teasing and from what he has only the vaguest memories of. That first dance doesn't matter to him so much, though, when there are years of scattered dances and letters behind them. “Well, I'm not going to marry anyone else,” he says frankly. “I don't have the patience for it.”

“Yuri. I'm leaving tomorrow.”

“I know that.” Yuri scowls. “What am I supposed to say, here in a public garden? I'm not going to marry anyone else. If you want to marry me, then I'm going to marry you.”

Otabek hums, thinking it through the way he thinks everything through. “I'm not going to be like Duke-Consort Yuuri. I won't sell my commission until I've done my duty, though I won't make you wait until I'm an Admiral.”

“So we'll have a long betrothal. If you want to have one at all.”

“I said yes, didn't I?” says Otabek, with a smile that says he's indulging in a private joke. Yuri smiles back, even though any other time he'd be annoyed not to be in on whatever Otabek finds so amusing. He'll ask later, but for now the word yes is enough to encourage him to take a liberty, so he leans in and kisses Otabek, quick enough that no one will see if they aren't looking. “The betrothal may be long enough to make you impatient,” Otabek says when he pulls away, “but we'll have letters, and perhaps you have friends on the coast that you could visit sometimes. If I can snatch an hour or two.”

There's going to be a reckoning later when Yuri has to deal with snatched hours and not all the time in the world like he wants to have, but that's only more reason to get involved in politics and see what he can do to get Otabek home, after he's had time to enjoy the command he wants so much. “I'll be impatient if it's five days or five years,” he says with total honesty, “so you may as well do what you need to do. Like I said, if you want me to wait, I'll be waiting.”

“You don't have to wait quite yet,” says Otabek, and offers his hand. “There's a waltz starting inside. That's why I came to look for you in the first place. May I have this dance?”

Yuri puts his hand in Otabek's. He'll never turn down a dance with him, and especially, with everything spoken between them, not a waltz. “You can even lead this time,” he says, magnanimous, and Otabek laughs as he leads him inside.

+1.

Otabek is alone when Yuri finds him, though he thinks it's the first time he's been so all night. The ball is more than a crush, and Mila is smug about it, having planned it all even if Yuri is technically the host. Everyone has plenty to celebrate, but no one more than Yuri, at least in his opinion.

And no one has tried to disagree, so it's very possible he's right.

“I've requested a waltz next, so you can leave off with whatever you're doing and dance with me,” he says the second Otabek looks up at him.

Otabek smiles, eyebrows raised. “I can, can I?”

“It's our engagement party, so I would hope you can, or there might be a scandal.”

“Like you care about scandal.” Otabek stops leaning on the wall and takes Yuri's hand. “And I think technically you just called it a celebration ball. But of course I'll dance with you. I'm just used to asking you, not the other way around.”

Yuri has learned this about Otabek, in three years of writing letters and snatched visits, that he keeps careful track of what things are like between them. His memory is never quite as good, but he hopes he makes up for it, even if he's a difficult man at best. “Well, I was the one who asked you to marry me, so that's worth a few dances.”

“You didn't really ask me. Or ask me to dance, just now, come to that.”

Yuri sighs and rolls his eyes. “Fine, if it will stop you dawdling, will you dance with me?”

Otabek's eyes are warm, even if the rest of his face is serious. “Of course I will.”

They've always been each other's favorite dance partners, and that, Yuri thinks, won't change, even if everything else will soon. They reach the edge of the dance floor, and Yuri offers his hand, letting Otabek decide if he wants to lead or follow this time.

Either way, he's happy.


End file.
